


this is a love story

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Exhibitionism, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08, Tattoos, Voyeurism, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22199005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: It’s all Derek’s fault.If Derek wouldn’t be such a sneaky stalker, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Derek wouldn’t have to hide on the other side of his window while Stiles has his dick in his hand and not a clue how to proceed.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 25
Kudos: 433





	this is a love story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariesondetre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariesondetre/gifts).



It’s all Derek’s fault.

If Derek wouldn’t be such a sneaky stalker, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Derek wouldn’t have to hide on the other side of his window while Stiles has his dick in his hand and not a clue how to proceed.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s _Stiles’_ fault.

After he moved into his own flat in Washington when he started his first job for the FBI, he had gotten sloppy with his old routine. Afternoons in Beacon Hills had looked like this: Coming home, closing all the windows and the curtains, using some nose-burning kind of room refresher spray which he got in bulk at a dollar-store, before he sprawled on his bed to have a little Stiles-time.

The more time went by without living in a town full of werewolves, the more Stiles had felt safe to have a good wank in the privacy of his own home. So when he came home today, he’d stumbled out of his clothes, half-hard already after his encounter with Derek, the thought of the usual precautions hadn’t even crossed his mind.

But if you look really close, it’s Derek’s fault after all.

It’s been Derek who couldn’t keep his hands and his face to himself, and had sniffed Stiles all over when they sat in a small café that Stiles will now never be able to visit again without thinking about Derek. Derek was the one who leaned into Stiles’ personal space and growled something inarticulate while he tugged down Stiles’ shirt to have a closer look.

Now that he considers it, maybe that was Stiles’ fault, too.

Because he’s the one who had gone out and getting himself a tattoo that covered most of his back, the main image centered in a tumble of vines and runes from which a few lines crawled up the side of his neck. Derek’s gaze had been glued to that spot since Stiles had taken his jacket off. He had known Derek has a thing for ink, so maybe it wasn’t all that wise to ditch the jacket.

But that’s quite of a reach, isn’t it.

Fact is, Stiles had been going along fine with his life. No supernatural catastrophes in months. He’d dated once or twice to get back in the game and he’d finally felt like he’d made enough room in his heart for someone who’s not a six feet tall sourwolf with perfect green eyes and …

He’s digressing.

Derek had just stood there, in front of the nondescript office building that housed Stiles’ unit, like it’s totally okay to just stroll back into the life of another man without warning.

So, long story short, what he’s trying to say here is, Derek had to thank only himself for the predicament he’s currently in.

And that’s slouching outside Stiles’ apartment on the fire escape. Only a fraction of a second has passed since Stiles looked up because he heard a sound (was it a growl) and caught a glimpse at Derek’s face, reflected in the mirror at the other side of the room. Another fraction and Derek will know what’s up, so Stiles has to buy himself some time. He loosens the grip on his cock and keeps the next strokes just tight enough to not lose his momentum.

He tries not to look in the direction of his mirror, all the while keeping it in focus in the corner of his eye. It’s harder than you’d think, but Stiles has managed worse. Except in those situations, he’d not been distracted by, well, the whole ridiculous situation he’s currently in the middle of.

His mind is fuzzy with the blood pumping through his body, pooling in his groin. It’s hard to think like this, even harder than usual to sort through the thousands of scattered bits and bites of information barraging his brain at any given moment.

The decision he has to make is not a decision at all. His heart is pounding with the knowledge that Derek is watching him, and that he keeps watching. Stiles would like to say he’s petty and that he wants to torture Derek with this. He’d have every right to, given the fact that Derek’s continued presence outside his window is a little more than morally questionable.

But that’s not the reason he’s closing his fist tighter and moans low in his throat. It’s not a show he’s putting on out of spite. No, it’s the fact that he can _feel_ Derek’s gaze on him and it turns him on more than he ever would have predicted. Sure, he’s had an exhibitionist streak all his life, and that mirror hangs there for a reason. But this – this is something even he could not anticipate: the sheer rush of adrenaline and pure red-hot want that’s rushing through him just thinking about Derek’s eyes on him.

* * *

Derek hates himself.

 _You always hate yourself_ , he can hear Stiles say in his mind, and he wouldn’t be all that wrong, but this is different. He’s made a lot of questionable decisions in his life, and letting himself fall in love with a vulnerable human who ran into danger every opportunity he had was definitely on that list, but right now, he’s confronted with the undeniable fact that none of his feelings have lessened and that he’s weak enough to throw his moral compass out of the window to watch Stiles like a creeper, and that does not sit well with him.

He’d thought he could live with whatever outcome his journey to see Stiles again would lead to.

One look at Stiles this afternoon had taught him better.

Stiles had been even more irresistible that before. The way he held himself now: his training had given him more control of his long limbs and had added a bulk of solid muscle in all the right places. Derek had been speechless for a whole of five minutes, not that Stiles had noticed – he still could supply both their ends of the conversation with no problem.

And the ink. Holy hell, he hadn’t know what that’d do to him. He wanted to peel the offending clothes from Stiles’ skin right there in the café, to see it all.

Be careful what you wish for.

A moan floats through the open window and hits Derek like a freight train. The sight of Stiles, naked, touching himself, and that smell would be enough to drive him crazy, but that sound. Fucking hell. He rearranges himself in his pants, which is a lost cause because – and he hates himself for that, too – he had to wear his tight black jeans today, hadn’t he. Stiles had at one time in the past told him they looked good on him. And Derek had wanted to make a good impression. It had taken him two years to get himself in order, deal with that giant heap of guilt and hate and self-loathing that had crippled him for so long, he hadn’t even realizes how much he missed because of it. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had found peace in his own mind.

And now this.

He rakes a hand through his hair.

He really shouldn’t do this. But that’s already an afterthought, pushed to the back of his mind by frustration and desire warring for dominance inside him.

Derek wants it to be over and he wants it to never end at all. Stiles, being Stiles, can’t even jack off like a normal person. He's opening his thighs in such an obscene display that Derek nearly chokes on his own tongue. Derek’s treacherous hand, which was tasked with the “impossible rearrangement” re: the black jeans, is still on his cock and rubs in slow circles. His mind drifts. What if Stiles does what he does because of him? Derek knows that Stiles had a crush on him a long time ago. Back then, Derek had decided to never act on his own feelings, even if it had been close a few times.

He’s never met anyone as infuriating, as loyal, as smart, as empathetic, as obnoxious as Stiles. And if the last years have taught him anything, it’s the realization that he’s absolutely sure he never will meet anyone like him. That’s the core of why he came here today, isn’t it, however many times he tried to tell himself that he would be okay with it either way: He needed to know if Stiles still has feelings for him.

Stiles is raking his fingernails over his chest, leaving four thin red lines for Derek to see.

Derek fights to contain the growl that’s building in his chest. He’s not sure if he’s successful, but Stiles still seems oblivious. Precome is dripping steadily on Stiles’ stomach, and he’s gathering it to rub it into his skin. It’s like he’s consciously trying to drive Derek up the wall …

“Ahhh,” Stiles moans, and Derek blanks out for a moment, so he can’t be quite sure he caught the next word tumbling over Stiles’ perfect lips right.

My name. He – fucking _moaned_ my name.

He zeroes in on Stiles. He’s never been focused more intently on anything in his life. Stiles still lays there on his bed, looking innocent, if that word is even applicable here. Derek’s heart is thumping against his ribs like a caged animal. His eyes must be glowing and he can feel his fangs sharpen with a rush of lust and need so profound, he’s shaking with it. The wolf inside him screams to get up and run over to Stiles and _take_ , pull those perfect elegant fingers from Stiles’ dick, because that’s _his_ and he’ll be the one coaxing those sounds from Stile from now on.

But he stays put. Manages to bring his trembling body under control. He has no right to be here. If Stiles thinks about him right now or not, it’s a violation of his privacy. Derek’ll need just a moment, to catch his breath and stop his heart from beating right in his throat, and then he’ll go.

Stiles turns his head.

Their gazes meet.

Stiles – he – that’s _not_ a look of surprise on his face.

He knew. He fucking knew that Derek is there. Derek finds the strength to be offended for only the fraction of a second, before that animalistic part of him takes over. Something splinters under his hand. The window frame. A piece of paper rustles under his right foot. He reaches the bed. Fabric rips, probably his shirt, but who cares.

Stiles would have every right to be terrified. Derek himself is shocked by his apparent lack of control. But Stiles – he smiles like the cat that ate the canary.

“Took you long enough. I was nearly done.”

* * *

Stiles really should know better than to taunt a werewolf in this condition. But fuck it, he waited too long for this. Ten years of trying to squash his feelings. He’s sick and tired of it, because none of his tactics ever worked. He’s getting this chance, now, when he'd stopped hoping, and he’ll grab it with both hands.

Derek’s fangs are showing. He’s towering over the bed like a creature from most people’s nightmares. Stiles is not afraid. His blood is singing in his veins, pulses low in his groin like it’s calling out to Derek. He bares his neck in invitation.

Derek pounces. Lips close over Stile’s pulse point and suck, hard, before Derek’s mouth travels upward, find Stiles lips.

Their first kiss is not sweet or hesitant, but Stiles never thought it would be. It’s staking a claim, rough and vigorous. Stiles grabs a fistful of Derek’s hair and groans into his mouth. Derek’s hands are on him, possessive and fucking everywhere.

He’d been sure of Derek’s trust and friendship and affection for a long time. What happens now feels like the missing piece to a puzzle he’d been trying to solve since that first day in the woods of Beacon Hills: _I never thought I could want anyone as much as you. Do you want me, too?_

Yes, Derek licks inside his mouth. Yes, his hands bruise into his skin. Yes, Derek's straining erection presses into his thigh.

Stiles fumbles for Derek’s pants and utters a little _whoop_ of joy when he finally gets the button and the zipper open. Derek leans over him, seeming at a loss for a moment. He trails finger along the line of his tattoo that creeps around his ribcage. A second later, Stiles is turned with a hand on his shoulder and Derek takes a long moment just to stare at his back. Without consciously deciding to do so, Stiles goes up on all fours. It’s exactly the right thing to do, it turns out, because it drives Derek wild. Derek’s cock, already weeping, presses against the cleft of Stiles’ ass, and yes, god, this - this is what he wants, has yearned for all these years. He whimpers at the feeling.

Derek leans down and snakes his large palm around his throat, pulls until Stiles is on his knees, his back to Derek’s chest. Stiles has gotten bigger in the last years, but in Derek’s embrace, he still feels small, like something to be cherished, something to be chased. His heart is beating rabbit-quick, his breath panting like he just ran a mile.

Derek finally caught him.

Derek’s palm is hot against his throat where his pulse is racing, while he trails his other hand down Stiles’ front, slowly like he wants to commit the feeling to memory. His dick slips between Stiles’ thighs, and oh, yeah, that’s good, too.

Stiles has to see, so he turns to watch them in his mirror. Derek looms behind him, an almost terrifying look on his face, want and need and something primal and possessive hardening his features. His skin is a shade darker than Stiles who’s always been so freakishly pale and he hated it for the longest time, but right now, he loves the contrast between them. Derek starts thrusting between his thighs, slipping against his sweat-slick skin, easing the way with his own precome. Stiles moans at the feeling, urges Derek on, shallowly rocking his hips. His own cock is bouncing with the motion, swollen red and dripping, but when he tries to get his hand back on it, Derek slaps it away. His long finger curl around Stiles in a tight grip, and Stiles lets his head fall back onto Derek’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh.

Derek leans in for a quick and dirty kiss, before he noses along Stiles’ jaw and closes his lips over his pulse point. Sharp teeth graze his skin. With sudden clarity, Stiles realizes what’s happening. His blood is thundering in his ears, and his heart picks another notch to an unhealthy beat. He angles his head farther down, gives Derek full access to the part where his neck meets his shoulder, inviting him closer.

Derek fucks between his thighs fast and hard. It’s glorious, but Stiles wants more. After all this time, he wants this to _mean_ more. Derek’s breath is harsh against his skin.

“Do you want to bite me,” Stiles asks, breathless, not really a question because even when it’s hard to read Derek most of the time, it’s easy to decipher the wolf. But it’s Derek he’s asking, and Stiles is asking not only about this moment.

Derek’s stills for a second and rests his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. He groans, a lost and desperate sound, that encompasses the million things unsaid between them. “Do you want me to?” he asks back, because nothing can ever be easy with him.

And it’s a lot to decide while your body it racing towards a climax that’s been coming ten years and will certainly be earthshattering, and you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue as your stomach tightens and your spine feels like it's being held in red-hot vice and black spots are dancing in the corners of your eyes, but Stiles has been sure the moment he saw Derek this afternoon. There’ll never be anyone else for him. Might as well seal the deal here and now: with a bite that will declare them mates for good. They’ll sort everything else out later.

“Yes,” he says, simple and sure, because he knows Derek will second-guess whatever else he might add, and he bites his lips to keep himself from saying more, seals all his questions and emotions and explanations in.

That’s when Derek strikes.

And it hurts, it fucking hurts, but it also sets every nerve in his body on fire. He shouts through the pleasure-pain. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, from the sheer overwhelming _truckload_ of sensations hitting him. He grips Derek’s head and holds him against his shoulder, and he’s done with holding back now, mutters a string of words he can’t make out himself. Derek’s name is in there, and some blasphemous curses that don’t make any sense, but he doubts Derek will notice.

Derek’s pumping between his thighs, feeling even bigger than before, even hotter. The thought that’s He's able to give Derek pleasure like this, that Derek is losing it because of him, makes something powerful surge inside him. He can’t wait to get his mouth on Derek, to feel him inside himself, to fuck him until they both black out. He thrusts erracticly into Derek’s fist, like he imagined it a thousand times before, only now, it’s real and so much better. Derek’s still holding Stiles in place when he comes, in thick spurts that land on Stiles’ balls and drip down his legs, with a broken cry that reverberates through Stiles’ own chest.

Derek’s retreating a moment later, like he’s aghast at his loss of control, staring at the mark on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles is not having it. “My turn,” he warns, his voice nothing more than a hoarse croak, but his intention must be clear because Derek doesn’t fight him when Stiles turns in his arms and pushes him down on the bed. Stiles kneels next to Sterek, who’s still half in his jeans, and he grants himself a second or two just to look at Derek, fucked-out and disoriented on his own bed, and he _did_ that. He did _that_. Stiles made him look like this.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks when Stiles starts to jack himself with quick efficient strokes.

“You- “ Stiles grunts when he hits the spot under his cock-head just right, “you made sure every wolf in town will know I’m yours.” He’s panting, sweat coating his back and his chest, and he feels filthy in the best of ways with Derek’s come cooling between his legs. “Now I’m gonna make sure they know you’re mine.”

His cock is jerking in his fist, and the coil around his spine tightens. Derek’s staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth falling open as if he wants to catch a drop, and isn’t that a thought, but he’s already close, so close. Stiles sighs in relief when the pressure is finally peaking and he’s coming all over Derek’s chest and groin, long streaks plastering his skin and soaking him in Stiles’ scent. “You’re mine,” he growls, before he collapses on top of Derek in an undignified heap.

He must have closed his eyes. When he opens them again, he finds himself laying in his own spunk, well underway to being glued to Derek’s chest.

“Ew”, he says and starts to get up, but Derek’s hand on his back holds him in place. A finger is following the lines Stiles knows are there, even if he can’t see them.

“When did you get this,” Derek asks, voice low, sounding almost insecure.

“A while back,” Stiles says. He looks up at Derek and presses a soft kiss at the corner of his lips. “I didn’t feel whole without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating ](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/post/190179028641/this-is-a-love-story-sterek-33k-e-canonverse) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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